


Hold Your Breath

by singedsun



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Mutual Pining, Spoilers for Episode: s08x03, long meaningful gazes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 09:19:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18753493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singedsun/pseuds/singedsun
Summary: In battle, she'd been aware of him near her. He never moved far, he pulled her up and in turn she could find him each time she turned, finding his blood splattered face in the firelight between their enemies. It hadn't required planning or communication, it felt second nature to her to put her back to his and fight the oncoming dead.





	Hold Your Breath

**Author's Note:**

> Just like the very smallest spoilers for 08x03. I didn't warn for violence because there's no actual fighting here, but there are some short descriptions of what's left of the scene around them. Minor mentions of blood, the dead and undead.  
> I just wanted some closure to the scene of them fighting back to back and I really don't think that's so much to ask.

First there's only the repetitive thudding sound of bodies hitting the ground. Like it happens in waves, she watches the ones just around her fall and then she's turning her head and seeing the cascade of death all over Winterfell. Then it feels too quiet for several seconds, with nothing but drifting snow and the sound of her own breath. Distantly she's aware of shuffling footsteps, scraped stones, blunted and bloody weapons being moved or dislodged.

The cold sinks into her bones as she stops moving, holding for the unexpected as if another wave might crest the wall to attack at any moment. Tears and sweat sting her face, melting while she's still warm enough from the fight to feel them. And there's warmth at her back too, a shifting shadow, a memory.

"Ser Brienne," he says. It's not a whisper, but it feels like one. Like he's holding his breath too, trying not to disrupt the temporary peace they've found.

But they're not held breaths, they're heaving ones. Both of them fighting the creeping exhaustion attempting to settle into these few quiet moments.

"Ser," she says, acknowledging the title with some hesitance despite the pleasure it brings her to think of it.

She watches the corner of his mouth twitch with the title too, almost a smile. Almost human.

In battle, she'd been aware of him near her. He never moved far, he pulled her up and in turn she could find him each time she turned, finding his blood splattered face in the firelight between their enemies. It hadn't required planning or communication, it felt second nature to her to put her back to his and fight the oncoming dead.

For a moment there's just that look, that singular appraising look as he takes in the sight of her. Based on what she can see of him, she imagines the mess she must be and lifts her chin as if responding to a challenge he hasn't made.

"Are you injured?" he asks.

She takes stock of herself and shakes her head. She aches and there are stings at her joins and along her neck, a reminder of the moments that could've ended differently had Jaime not been at her back, pushing back against their enemies.

Brienne wants to laugh, or to cry, her whole body wants to shake with something like exhaustion or relief she's not sure which. In the distance there's a dragon spitting blue fire and it sparks like fireworks as the great beast sputters and tries to claw further over the wall. She doesn't know how to deal with a thing like that and her gaze moves back to Jaime Lannister, who is staring at her with fire-lit eyes. She knows they're blue, she's seen them enough in her dreams to know them well, but they're dark now, red-orange and wide like the whole of the blue has been swallowed by the darkness.

"Alive," she says. It's a breath, all she can manage with Jaime looking at her. "You?"

He shakes his head. "Somehow, I find myself still standing on the walls of Winterfell." That near smile is back and his gaze travels over her, his mouth open ready to say something more. When he glances away Brienne feels her heart pounding in her ears and hands and feet. She has never felt comfortable under that look of his. 

Sound draws her attention back towards the castle, people are running and yelling and calling for help. She should go, is what she thinks. She should get off this battlement and away from Jaime so she can breath. She should look for Lady Stark. She should do a lot of things.

"Yes, good." she says. "I should--"

Her words are gone in an instant as he kisses her. She feels the weight of her sword in her hand, her grip tightening around it as she stands frozen against him. His arms move and she hears the scrape of metal on stone as he reaches his arms to either side of her in something akin to an embrace. And still she cannot move. She cannot speak. She cannot breath for fear of chasing away this warmth pressed against her.

Maybe it's the warmth of him, the press of his nose against hers, the feel of his beard scratching her chin but her mouth moves without instruction, slow at first as if waking up from a long sleep. She's kissing him and everything else seems to disappear.

Jaime presses against her, into her and she steps back and back again, until there's cold stone behind her. It's the cold that draws her back to herself, blinking and staring at shadowed features of the man before her as they both take a moment to breathe. She wants more, her whole body aching for more the tension and exhaustion heightened by this different kind of need. Her hand is still wrapped around the hilt of her sword and she squeezes it tighter as she looks away from Jaime.

"I should go." She should, there are soldiers to check on and Lady Stark to find and things that need to be done after a battle such as this. Her mind draws up a list of tasks to avoid the focus of Jaime's gaze on her.

His breathing is heavy and for a moment he leans in again like he might kiss her another time. Brienne slips along the stones, moving to the side to find her way free of his touch. If she stays here, she will never want to leave him. But she has duties to attend to.

He nods slowly and steps away, over the body of a dead man half-rotted skin and frozen features. He shakes his head at it and then nods again.

"I should look for Tyrion." His mouth parts as if to speak again and a moment passes where she cannot read the expression on his face, though she tries. "Thank you," he says at last. "You had my back." He looks down, and takes in the scene at their feet. It's bloody and terrible.

"You also had mine." She lifts her sword and slides into the sheath at her side. "Thank you." _Jaime._  

A single nod is his reply, slow and deliberate and his eyes close slightly with the movement. He had done what he said he would do, fight with her for the safety of Winterfell and the seven kingdoms against the undead horrors at their feet. She doesn’t know that 'thank you' is quite adequate for what he's done. Brienne inhales a long, cold breath of the night air and it burns her throat and sits heavy in her lungs, the lingering scent of dragon's fire all around them.

"I am grateful," she says, "we made it though safely." It's not enough, not nearly enough when what she really wants is for him to kiss her again. Or to be able to bridge this gap between them and do it herself.

"As am I, Ser Brienne." He smiles and she can't help but return it.


End file.
